—Publilius Syrus

While people around the world were waking to rip open gifts, begin cooking for family gatherings, and, in some cases, simulate a feeling of togetherness for the sake of the day on the calendar, I was sitting on the upstairs deck of our villa watching the sun rise.

In the cozy bed downstairs, the person I loved most in the world snored softly, on his side. Throughout the early morning hours, Julian's phone kept vibrating on the nightstand with missed calls and messages. Although he was able to sleep through it, I could not. Considering the view I had of the sleepy sun, spreading a line of golden kisses along the boundless horizon of the ocean, the early wake up was a blessing in disguise.

Before I made my way to the top deck, I remembered to bring my leather-bound notebook, pen, and a cup of rooibos tea with me. What kind of writer would I be, I thought, if I didn't utilize the enchanting views before me to compose words?

There, under the breathtaking mauve skies, I wrote. Firstly, I jotted another letter to Julian that I never planned to give to him. I didn't notice the minutes passing, but many must have, because the sun was much higher when I finished—turning the sky a light, baby blue. The landscape continued to brighten and spur inspiration in me, so I was able to finish two poems before the sound of a turning doorknob caught my attention. In the doorway was Julian, standing in only his black boxers with ruffled, caramel hair. Visible relief washed through him as his rigid shoulders slouched and he let out a long breath.

"There you are." He walked over to the table and kissed the top of my head, before taking the seat next to me. "I've been looking all over the villa for you."

"I'm sorry." I rubbed his forearm. "I didn't think you'd be awake for a while yet."

"It's past ten," he told me.

"It is?" I had walked upstairs around six that morning.

"Yeah." He placed a hand on my jean shorts. "I was so worried. I couldn't find you anywhere. At first, I didn't think to check up here. So I walked around the villa three times, even looked in the water. I tried phoning you as well, but you left your mobile by the bed."

"Where would I have gone?" My hand found his tousled hair, patting it down against his head. Small, loose, wavy curls at the ends stuck up in various directions. "We're on stilts in the Indian Ocean and you're my ride home."

"I don't know." Julian didn't laugh at my joke. "I just knew you weren't next to me anymore and I overreacted."

"You should know by now that I'm not going anywhere." I scooted my chair closer to his, as the scent of sea salt encircled us in a light breeze. "I never left you. I wouldn't abandon you in the night."

"See, the sensible part of me knows that." He rubbed the sleep from his right eye. "But the fucking idiot in me will always be petrified that you're one foot out the door."

"Tell the idiot in you to be quiet then." I leaned into the curve of his neck, smiling against his toasty skin.

After spending half the day lounging by the relaxing waters around our villa, we traveled fifty miles by chartered boat to Rangali Island for, what Julian said would be, a very special dinner. I highly doubted that anything could've beaten the previous night's meal and show, but Christmas dinner proved to be even more surreal.

At the end of a jetty, Julian and I took the spiral staircase down from the beautiful, circular, straw-roof pavilion into the world's only undersea restaurant. The half-circular structure was several meters below sea level, and completely panoramic with transparent, acrylic glass offering views of ocean life. In one corner stood a fully lit and decorated Christmas tree, to complete the ambiance.

The restaurant was small and tubular—a fifteen by thirty foot room with a capacity of only fourteen people—but Julian and I were alone for the first half of our seven course meal there. Our palates were greeted with the likes of fresh oysters with black truffle hollandaise, cod confit, crispy prawns, lobster ravioli, red onion chutney, pineapple salsa, and poached pear. The rest of the offerings on our table were delicious but unpronounceable. In his handsome, black button-up shirt across from me, Julian studied my reactions to each bite, his grin widening with each moan of tasty approval. Still, the opulent courses were only secondary to the otherworldly, submarine scenery.

Fish of every color and size swam overhead and around us as we dined, attracted to the spotlights in the water and the candlelit illumination within our chamber. An intimidating looking stingray lay atop the glass, and one small shark even stopped next to me, to peer inside. Julian's favorite seemed to be a medium sized fish with a blue body—though its head, fins, and tail were yellow. Long black stripes decorated its frame, while black dots inked its tail.

"Is that how I look when I kiss you?" Julian pointed to the creature, opening and closing its puckered mouth.

I dissolved into candid laughter, nearly spitting out my sip of water.

"I feel like a mermaid," I said with small bursts of laughter rolling off me.

"Please don't say that." Julian spooned the last bite of honey cream napolean into his mouth. "I have a difficult enough time fighting off the men above shore."

...

Three more days slipped away from us, as we rented glass-bottom canoes, enjoyed a partners in-room spa visit, snorkeled around the lagoon, and traveled inland again to watch Boduberu performers. Twenty musicians in colorful, traditional sarongs introduced each song with a slow beat, building to the crescendos where frantic dancing commanded attention.

The music was an oddly captivating mix of what I considered to be Middle Eastern and African inspired melodies. The vocals reminded me of an Islamic call to prayer, while the passionate drumming was something straight out of the Sudanese Sahara.

"Boduberu," a young, native girl said as she sat next to me in the sand. "It means 'vibrating the island.' It fits, yes?"

Voluminous black hair framed the clear, carob colored skin of her face. She looked to be my age or younger, with natural black pigment lining her large brown eyes, making them stand out in the most stunning way. Rudely, I gazed at her for much too long before answering.

"Very fitting." My smile offered an apology for my bad manners.

"My name is Sufa," she introduced herself and extended a hand. "It means 'star' in your language."

"I'm Brooke." I accepted her hand into mine and nodded.

"And your husband?" She pointed her chin outwards, towards Julian.

"We're not married," Julian corrected her, and though he was being honest, it stung for an indiscernible reason. I rubbed the skin around my bare ring finger. "Call me Riley."

"My apologies for assuming." She cast her eyes downward for a moment. "Many come here for a honeymoon, and you are of the age for marriage."

"It's quite alright," I assured her, and Sufa's features relaxed.

"This is a special day," she announced while straightening her back. "Do you see that man, third from the left?"

She pointed to one of the performers, whose smile suddenly seemed larger than the rest.

"His wife has just given birth today." She shifted her feet in the gritty terrain, looking up and ahead. "This song is 'Loabi Kuda,' meaning little love. They play this in his honor, for his new son."

"Why isn't he home with his wife and son?" Curiosity got the better of me.

"They are here." She pointed beyond a flickering bamboo torch where a beautiful woman with a glowing face sat alone in the sand, cradling a bundled child in her arms. The drummer watched his wife from the circle, gazing at her with unmistakable love and pride.

"You must come back in three nights, where they will play songs of Maldivian heroism." Sufa grinned, exposing an endearing gap between her two front teeth.

"We would love to, but this is our last night on the island," I explained with a twinge of sadness.

"Your last night?" She rubbed her hands together slowly, releasing bits of sand that had been stuck to her palms. "My heart is sick for those who must leave the atolls, while I will take my final breaths here."

"It's better to visit and have to leave, than to have never come at all," I rationalized. "I'll always remember being here."

"Brooke is wise," Sufa said to Julian, and herself.

I gave her a small smile.

"Since you cannot stay, we must say farewell the proper way," Sufa said. "In my culture, it is customary to part with a gift."

She reached into her high-collared shirt and unclasped a hidden necklace. Stones of various sizes and shades of green were hammered into an old-fashioned piece of jewelry. Sufa held it out to me in her palm.

"No, please put that back on." I held up my hands.

"It would bring me happiness and good fortune to offer this to you." She brought her open palm closer to me.

"I can't take your necklace," I repeated.

"It is my duty and privilege to give you a piece of my native republic." Sufa took my hand, turned it over, and dropped the necklace into my reluctant palm.

My eyes examined the aqua colored necklace with silver clasps. It was strikingly beautiful and timeless.

"Thank you, Sufa." I moved towards her for a hug but halted, afraid of invading her space. Sufa reached the rest of the way to complete our hug. As we did, the music slowed to a stop, signifying the end of the performance.

"I must get back now." Sufa smiled, and I noticed her quickly glancing at my ears. "Safe travels to you both. Dhanee, goodbye."

I thought for a moment, then called out.

"Wait."

Sufa turned around and I stood from the sand, while removing the silver bow decorations from my ears.

"For you." I handed over the earrings that Eric gave me, to the girl.

Her smile was bright as she accepted them, and immediately secured them in her own ears. On her darker skin tone, the light silver earrings looked even more gorgeous.

...

"Do we have everything?" I looked around the villa once more, scrambling to make sure the few items we brought were securely packed away.

"Yes, Brooke." Julian stood with the duffel bag across his chest. "You've checked the bed nine times now, sweetheart. Come on, the boat is waiting for us."

"Okay, let's go." I mentally said my farewell to the villa, and tried not to look behind us once we were aboard the small, chartered boat. Just once, I slipped up and caught sight of the stilted paradise getting smaller and smaller, as we jetted back to the main island of Malé.

Our flight back to London felt like nothing in comparison to the trip there. Mostly, we napped and watched movies. But for some duration, I thought of Sufa. My mind was jumbled, but her words still rang with clarity. The girl meant nothing by her assumption, but it still vexed and disheartened me that Julian would take offense to being my presumed husband. We were madly in love, the best of friends to boot, and somehow, it was an impossibility for Julian to call me his girlfriend. If a simple title like that was asking too much of him, I safely assumed that marriage was out of the question.

Just to appease my meddling mind, I imagined Julian waiting for me at the end of an aisle. I could see the fresh, black tuxedo formed over his body, hair wet with gel, and shiny dark shoes pointed in my direction. My feet would move towards his smile—the one that forced his cheeks up and caused his eyes to squint with elation. In front of everyone invited, I would admit my endless love for him, one that would only grow by the day. I would promise, all in attendance as my witnesses, to remind him in little ways every single day that he would never be abandoned again. I would be the one to show him that he was worthy of love, and already had every last ounce of mine.

I thought of the Maldivian performer and the way he looked at his wife and newborn son, while allowing my thoughts to wander into preposterous territory. My imagination conjured up images of little boys with curly, black hair and russet eyes, and little girls with wavy, caramel locks and brown windows to their souls. I saw Julian, with small wrinkles just starting to form around his temples, placing a child's small feet on the front of his shoes to walk forward, holding his arms for support. Julian had so much love to give, and it almost felt selfish to steal it all for myself. Was it so terribly wrong of me to want the proof of our love to exist within a sentient being—one that looked, acted, and sounded like both of us combined?

But it would not be. It could not be. As incredibly mind blowing and extravagant as my life felt with Julian in that moment, it depressed me to know that was all it would ever be. If I wanted Julian, truly wanted him, and all the remarkable experiences that came from knowing him, I would have to live with the secrecy, the separation, and the insecurity of an unknown tomorrow. For my own sanity, I would need to accept that, while I was sure he loved me, he couldn't label me in a link to him, or expose our feelings to the outside world.

Hearing his snores disrupted my pity party, and I forced myself to stop wallowing.

So what if he didn't want to call me his in front of others? I looked around the cabin of the private jet, as we returned from a dream vacation that was too far-fetched for even most peoples' bucket lists, and felt the sting of my selfishness being realized. All of the ways that Julian thought of me, listened to me, and provided for me were more than I needed to get by.

Maybe I just needed more time, I thought, to adjust to the lifestyle that we would need to live. Having him in that way, in any way, was much better than not having him at all.

...

"Go and take a nap in my bed," Julian suggested when we walked through the front door of his apartment. "I'm going to make some food for us."

"I'm okay." The numerous time zone changes I had endured as of late were really starting to take their toll on me, but I wanted to enjoy every moment with him while I could.

"At least go and lie down?" he begged. "You look spent."

"Okay, just for a few minutes." I caved in. With my phone in my pocket, I found his comfortable bed and crawled under the sheets that smelled just like him.

After a full day of being powered off, I finally turned my phone on and waited for the screen to adjust to its new location. Once it registered the correct time—past ten at night on December 30—I checked my unread messages. Three voicemails loomed in my mailbox, from Rose, Burt, and Laina respectively. I hit to listen in order.

Brookie! Merry Christmas, sweetie! I'm just checking on you in England. Are you having a good time? Give me a call back, honey. I love you!

Saved. I would call her back later. Next.

Brooke, this is Burt. I know you're on vacation until January third, but I just wanted to touch base with you and let you know that I am moving out of state with my family. So, you will likely have a new supervisor by the time you return to work. I wanted to personally thank you for your contributions to the Telegram, and I know, with your drive, you'll continue to thrive here. Thanks again for your hard work, and good luck with everything. Your future is undoubtedly bright.

That was so strange, I thought, Burt leaving with little to no warning. I recalled the family emergency he had previously, but this problem seemed more urgent. He didn't mention anything about moving, before I took my vacation. I hoped everything was alright. Finally, I played Laina's voicemail.

Hey, Brooke! Um, Wes found some information for you. From what he could find, it seems like Julian's mom is Eileen Miles, and she is still living in or around London. When he searched for her, no phone numbers or houses came up, but a hotel address did. It's the Regal Inn on Dunbar Road. I hope that helps you somehow. Love you! Can't wait to see you when you get back!

My frantic fingers searched the browser on my phone for a number and address to the Regal Inn. Once it popped up, I made sure Julian was still occupied in the kitchen, then I dialed.

"Regal on Dunbar," the male voice greeted me after several rings.

"Hi, yes, hello," I spoke quickly into the line. "I'm calling to see if you could connect me with a hotel guest?"

"What is the guest's name, please?" he asked.

"Eileen Miles," I said quietly.

"Ah," the man said with a terse tone. "One moment please."

"Connecting you to Room 312," a computerized voice said, over and over. The line continued to ring.

"Hello?" a raspy, accented, female voice said, just as the bedroom door opened and Julian walked in with a tray of tomato soups and grilled cheese sandwiches.

I hung up.

"How do you feel?" Julian asked, ignoring the phone that was just on my ear.

"I'm okay."

I wasn't okay.

I needed to make sure the woman who answered was really Julian's mom, and if so, I had to bring him to her. If she was at a hotel, she could have left at any time. In uncomfortable haste, I shoveled the food into my mouth, while contemplating my next move.

1. "Night Changes" (cover) by Luke Conard & James Marshall

2. "Heaven" (cover) by Boyce Avenue

3. "Oceans" by Seafret

4. "Anchor" by Novo Amor

5. "Anchor" by Novo Amor (Ed Tullett remix)